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COFJiRIGKIT DEFQSHi 



With The Colors 

SONGS OF THE 
AMERICAN SERVICE 



BY 

EVERARD JACK APPLETON 

Author of "^TKe Quiet Courage" 



CINCINNATI 

STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
1917 



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Copyright, 1917, by 
STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 

All Rights Reserved 
Copyright in England 



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OCT i8 iiji? 



^GlA477097 



TO THE 
BEST FLAG OF ALL: 

Tlie Stars and Stripes. 



CONTENTS 

I— WITH THEfCOLORS 

PAGE 

The Colors 9 

Loyalty --------- 10 

The Old National Guard 11 

The Alien 13 

The 'Skeeter Fleet 17 

Little Mother i8 

Soldiers of the Soil -------20 

The Lady's Man 32 

Cookie Jim --------- 2^ 

The Sandwich Girl ------ 25 

Bugler Bill zi 

Heinie the Hostler ------- 29 

Our Job -----.---31 

Her Johnny -------- 35 

The First Fleet 34 

Briggs of Base No. 8------ 36 

The Penguin Driver -------35 

Waitin' -------- 40 

We're All Right Here 42 

Reprisal _--_---- ^ 

The Soul of Sergeant Todd 45 

The Busy Lady ------- 47 

Overdoing It -------- 49 

The Givers -------- 50 

Hullo, Soldier, How's the Boy? ----- 52 

Beans --------- 5^ 

Behind the Lines - - -- - - - 56 

The Disappointed ---.-_ jg 

Good-bye, Boys! ------- fio 

That's All - - - 61 

An American Creed ------- 63 

5 



II— IN OTHER KEYS 

PAGE 

Youth o' the Year 67 

Unfinished -------- 69 

Paid in Advance -_-__-- 70 

We Rode at Night 71 

Now — and Then --------73 

Understood -------- 74. 

The Christmas Spirit -------75 

The Reason -------- 76 

The Modern Way -------77 

Because ! -- - - - -- 79 

That Smile 80 

The Gift of Gifts 81 

The Neighbors --------8a 

Uncle Bill's Idea 83 

'Lizabeth Ann's Picture 85 

The Small Boy Explains 87 

The Bold Lover 88 

Imagination -------- 89 

Willing to Trade 91 

The Lonely Child 93 

Th' Little Feller's Gone 95 

The Fisherman's Son ------ 97 

The Dog Confesses -------99 

Br'er Rabbit in de Bresh Pile - - - - loi 

When ---------- 104 



WITH THE COLORS 



THE COLORS 

TT isn't just colors and bunting — 
-*■ The red and the blue and the white. 
It's something heaps better and finer, — 
It's the soul of my country in sight! 

There's a lot of ceremony 'bout the Flag, 

Though many half-baked patriots believe 
Salutin' it and hangin' it correct 

"Is only loyalty upon the sleeve." 
But we who work beneath the Flag to-day, 

Who'll honor it — and die for it, perhaps — 
Get a slightly different view of the old red, 
white and blue 

Than is visioned by th' criticisin' chaps. 

It isn't just for decoratin' things. 

It isn't just an emblem, clean and bright, 
No matter what its "hoist" or what its "fly," 

To us it means our country — wrong or right ! 
The sobby stuff that some good people spout 

Won't help a man to understand this view, 
But: Wherever that Flag goes, the man who 
follows, knows 

That a better, cleaner citizen goes too! 

It's not just a banner to look at, — 
For which we're expected to fight; 

It's something that represents freedom; 
It's the soul of my country — in sight! 



LOYALTY 

npHIS is no time to quibble or to fool; 
-*- To argue over who was wrong, who right ; 
To measure fealty with a worn foot-rule; 
To ask: "Shall we keep still or shall we 
fight?" 
The Clock of Fate has struck; the hour is here; 

War is upon us now — not far away; 
One question only rises, clarion clear: 

"How may I serve my country, day by day?" 

Not all of us may join the khakied throng 

Of those who answer and go forth to stem 
The tide of war. But we can all be strong 

And steady in our loyalty to them! 
Not with unfettered thought, or tongue let 
loose 

In bitterness and hate — a childish game! 
But with a faith, untroubled by abuse, 

That honors those who put the regt to shame ! 

There is no middle ground on which to stand; 

We've done with useless pro-and-con debates ; 
The one-time friend, so welcome in this land, 

Has turned upon us at our very gates. 
There is no way, with honor, to stand back — 

Real patriotism isn't cool — then hot; 
You cannot trim the flag to fit your lack; 

You are American — or else you're not! 



10 



THE OLD NATIONAL GUARD 

'V^OU pull a lot of funny stuff about us, when 
-* there's peace, 

The jokes you spring are sometimes rough, 
and make a guy see red; 
But when there's trouble in the air you "vaude- 
villians" cease. 
And them that laughed the loudest laugh, 
salute the flag instead! 

Oh, it's kid the boys along 
When there's nothing going wrong; 
But when your country's facin' war. 
You sing a different song! 

The khaki that they doll us in ain't seen war 
service — no ! 
The most of it has been worn thin a-loafin' 
'round the mess; 
Folks think it's great to josh us when things 
are goin' slow. 
But when the country's all het up — ^we ain't 
so worse, I guess! 

Then it's, "Look! The Guard is here; 
Fine set of men, muh dear." . . . 

(We'd like it better if you spread 
Your jollies through th' year!) 



II 



We're only folks — th' reg'lar kind — that an- 
swered to th' call; 
We may be dumb and also blind — but still 
we'll see it through! 
Just wearin' khaki doesn't change our insides— 
not a'tall ! 
We're human (Does that seem so strange?) 
waitin' to fight — for you! 

We mayn't be worth a cuss 
In this ugly foreign muss, 

But when the nation needs some help, 
Why — pass the job to us! 



12 



THE ALIEN 

(Of course, this didn't happen, 

But if it had — 

Would you have been shocked?) 

SHE was a pretty little thing, 
Round-headed, bronze-haired and trim 
As a yacht. 
And when she married a handsome, polished 

Prussian 
(Before the war was ours) 
Her friends all said 
She'd made no mistake. 

He had much money, and he wasn't arrogant — 
To her. 

Their baby came — 
Big and blue-eyed, 
Solemn and serious. 

With his father's arrogance in the small. 
She knew how wonderful a child he was 
And said so. 

The husband knew it, too — 
Because the child looked like him. 
And they were happy 
Until the Nation roused itself, 
Stretched and yawned 
And got into the hellish game of kill. 
Then the man. 

Who had been almost human. 
Dropped his mask. 
And uncovered his ragged soul. 

13 



Having no sense of right or wrong — 

No spiritual standards for measurements; 

Feeding upon that same egotism 

That swept his country 

Into the depths of hate — 

He sneered and laughed 

At her pale patriotism 

And the country that inspired it. 

There was no open break between them, 

For a child's small hands 

Clung to both and kept them close. 

Shutting her eyes to all else 

Save that she was his wife, 

She played her part well. 

His work — his bluff at work, instead — 

Was something big and important 

(Always he looked the importance) 

That had to do with ships — 

Ships that idled at their docks to-day 

Because they were interned. 

And there was always money — 

More money than she had ever known, — 

Which he lavished — on himself 

And his desires. 

Not that he gave her nothing. 
For he did. . . . 
They lived in a big hotel, 
And the child had everything it should have 
And much it should not. 
She, too, was cared for well, 
After his wants were satisfied. 
14 



Then — 

The silent blow fell. 

Secret service men called upon him, 

And next day he was taken away 

To a detention camp 

For alien enemies. 

Interned like the anchor-chafing ships 

That once had flown his flag! 

The woman, up in arms, dinned at officials 

Until (so easy-going and so slow to learn) 

They told her what he had done. 

That night she stared long at their child, asleep, 

And at its father's picture, 

On her dresser. . . . 

Did the wife-courage that transcends 

All other kinds of bravery 

Keep her awake for hours. 

Planning, scheming, thinking? 

A week later she and the child — 

A blue-eyed, self-assertive mite — 

Were at the camp, 

She carrying it (the nurse was left behind) 

And the passports that allowed her to see him 

One hour, with a guard five yards away. 

Some of his polite impudence was gone. 

Yet he threw back his head and shoulders 

And shrugged as his wife and boy came in. 

"Always late," said he, after a perfunctory kiss, 

"You — and your country!" 

She stared long at him, holding the child close, 

Her own round, bronze head bowed. 

15 



Then, with a swift glance at the guard 
Thoughtfully chewing a straw and looking 
At the city of shacks, 
She spoke. 

"Did you know, Karl," she whispered, 
"That my brother was on that transport— 
My only brother — a soldier — my only blood? 
If it had gone down — that transport — been 

sunk—" 
"Well?" said he. That was all. 
"My brother — my only — Karl!" 
"Well?" said he again. "What of it?" 
Then — her little head lifted, her eyes gone 

mad — 
"This!" she said. "Rather than give 
Life to another human scorpion like you — 
Man in form only! — Lower than the floor of 

hell itself; 
Rather than have my blood mingle with 
The foul poison that is yours, 
To make a child of ours — 
This : I give him back to you — 
And recall my love — all of my love!" 
Again he shrugged his shoulders, 
Yawned — and saw, too late. 

Swift as the eagle that drives a lamb to death 
She whipped a hat-pin from her dainty hat. 
Drove it with steady aim 
Into the baby's heart 
And handed back to the gulping man 
All that was left of what had once meant joy — 
A dead baby with red bubbles on its lips! 
i6 



THE 'SKEETER FLEET 

A/i IGHTY little doin'— yet a lot to do— 

IVr While the navy's standin' guard, we are 

lookin' out; 
Patrol boats in shoals, good old craft and new 
Hustle here and skitter there — what's it all 

about? 

Speed boats and slow boats 

Loaf around or run, 
But ev'ry unit of this fleet 

Mounts a wicked gun! 

Pleasure craft a-plenty, all dolled up in gray 
Grim and ugly war-paint dress, we're a 
gloomy lot, 
Slidin' in and out, never in the way. 

Gosh! It's wearin' on the nerves, waitin' 
round — for what? 

Some boats are bum boats, 

Layin' for the Hun — 
But ev'ry boat that flies our Flag 

Mounts a wicked gun! 

Stickin' for the Big Show! Will it ever start? 

When it does, Good night, Irene ! We won't 
make a squeak. 
"Boy Scouts of the Sea," watch us do our part 

If a raider or a sub. gives us just a peek! 

Tin boats and wood boats — 

Ev'ry single one 
Longs to get in action with 

Its wicked little gun! 

17 



LITTLE MOTHER 

T ITTLE mother, little mother, with the 
■*-' shadows in your eyes 

And the icy hand of Fear about your heart, 
You cannot help your boy prepare to make his 
sacrifice 
Unless you make yours bravely, at the start! 

He is training, as a million others train; 
He is giving what the others give — their 
best; 
Make him feel your faith in him, though your 
troubled eyes grow dim; 
Let him know that you can stand the acid 
test! 



Because he's joined the colors — he's not dead! 

Because he's found his duty — he's not lost! 

Through your mother-love, my dear, keep him 

steady, keep him near 

To the soul he loves — your soul — whate'er 

the cost! 

You're not alone in heartaches or in doubts ; 

All mothers feel this burden newly coined; 
Then call your trembling pride to your colors — 
to your side — 
"Be a sport!" and make him glad that he 
has joined! 

i8 



Little mother, little mother, with the shadows 
in your eyes 
And the icy hand of Fear about your heart, 
There is this that you can do: "Play the game" ; 
there honor lies. 
Now your hoy and country need you — do 
your part! 



19 



SOLDIERS OF THE SOIL 

TT'S a high-falutin' title they have handed us; 
-■- It's very complimentary an' grand; 
But a year or so ago they called us "hicks," you 
know — 
An' joshed the farmer and his hired hand I 

Now it's, "Save the country. Farmer! 

Be a soldier of the soil I 
Show your patriotism, pardner, 

By your never-ending toil." 
So we're croppin' more than ever. 

An' we're speedin' up the farm; 
Oh, it's great to be a soldier — 
A sweatin', sun-burnt soldier, — 
A soldier in the furrows — 

Away from "war's alarm!" 

While fightin' blight and blister, 

We hardly get a chance 
To read about our "comrades" 

A-doin' things in France. 
To raise the grub to feed 'em 

Is some job, believe me — plus! 
And I ain't so sure a soldier — 
A shootin', scrappin' soldier, 
That's livin' close to dyin' — 

Ain't got the best of us! 



20 



But we'll harrer and we'll harvest, 

An' we'll meet this new demand 
Like the farmers always meet it — 

The farmers — and the land. 
An' we hope, when it is over 

An' this war has gone to seed. 
You will know us soldiers better — 
Th' sweatin', reapin' soldiers, 
Th' soldiers that have hustled 

To raise th' grub you need! 

It's a mighty fancy title you have given us, 
A name that sounds too fine to really stick; 

But maybe you'll forget (when you figure out 
your debt) 
To call th' man who works a farm a "hick." 



21 



THE LADIES' MAN 

DILLY is a ladies' man; Billy dances fine 
■'-^ (Always was a bear-cat at the game) ; 
Billy pulls the social stuff all along the line — 
But he knows this business, just the same. 

He can march; he can drill 

As hard as any rook; 
And he knows his manual 

Without his little book. 

Maybe he was soft at first — ev'rybody's that; 

Golfing was his hardest labor then; 
Now he's in the Service (where you don't grow 
fat), 

Digging, drilling, like us other men. 

He can eat, he can sleep 

Like any healthy brute — 
And the Captain says that Billy-boy 

Is learning how to shoot! 

When he joined the Training Camp, Billy says, 
"No doubt, 
I will draw some clerical position;" 
But he's shown he can command; so — the news 
is out — 
He will get a regular commission! 

He can talk; he can dance 

(He is still the ladies' pet) ; 

But the way he barks his orders out 
Gets action, you c'n bet! 

22 



COOKIE JIM 

'T^HE capting says, says he to us: 
^ "Your duty is to do your best; 
We can't ALL lead in this here muss, 
So mind your job ! That is the test 
O' soldierin', 
O' soldierin' — 
To mind your job, while soldierin' !" 

When Jimmy joined the colors first, he knowed 
that soon he'd be 
A non-com. officer, — oh, sure, he had that 
idee firm; 
But Jimmy got another think, fer quite even- 
tually 
They had him workin' like a Turk, th' pore, 
astonished worm. 

The rest of us, we gotta eat, and Jimmy — he 
can cook! 
(He makes a stew that tastes as good as 
mother used to make.) 
An' when he starts to flappin' cakes, why, every 
hungry rook 
Is droolin' at the mouth for them, a-waitin' 
fer his take. 

He's ranked a sergeant, but he don't mix up 
with no recruits; 
He rides a horse when we parade (which 
ain't so often now) ; 

23 



But where he shines is when we eat; the grub 
that Jimmy shoots 
At hungry troopers every day is certainly 
"some chow." 

He's jest a "dough-boy," of a sort; it's Jimmy's 
job to cook; 
Don't hafter drill, don't hafter tote a lot 
of arms with him; 
Jest messes up th' stuff we eat, and we don't 
hafter look- — 
It's always clean! So here's a good luck 
and health to Cookie Jim ! 

The capting says, says he : "You rooks 

Have gotta lot to learn, I'll say, 
'Cept Jimmy; he's the best o' cooks 
Troop Z has had fer many a day 
While soldierin'. 
While soldierin' — 
He does his work, while soldierin' !" 



24 



THE SANDWICH GIRL 

npHIS is the story as told to me; 
-*- It may be a fairy-tale new, 
But I know the man, and I know that he lies 
Very infrequently, too ! 



When the boys in khaki first were called to 
serve. 

Guarding railroad bridges and the like, 
Bob was just a private in the old N. G., 

Fond of all the work — except the hike. 
When they sent his comp'ny down the road a bit, 

"Gee!" he said, "I'd like to commandeer 
Some one's car and drive it — marching gets 
my goat!" 

(Bob was quite a gas-car engineer.) 

Lonesome work, this pacing up and down a 
bridge. 

Now and then a loaded train goes by; 
But at night — just nothing; everything was 
dead; 

Empty world beneath an empty sky. 
Then the chauffeur lady got into the game, 

Drove her car each midnight to our tents, 
Bringing us hot coffee, sandwiches, and pie ; 

All the others thought that was immense. 



25 



But Bob, ungrateful cuss, he would never say, 

Like the rest, that she had saved their lives ; 
He was too blamed busy, like the one-armed 
man 

Papering — the one that had the hives! 
Bob would eat the lunches — eat and come again, 

Silent, but as hungry as a pup; 
Finish with a piece o' pie, swallow it — and go ; 

Never had to make him hurry up I 

Then one night we heard him talking to the girl, 

Like he was complaining to her: "Say! 
Can't you change the stuffing? I am sick of 
ham! 

Have a heart! I'd just as lief eat hay!" 
Did we all jump on him? You can bet we did: 

"Who gave you the right to kick, you steer, 
Over what she brings us ? She's a first-rate pal ; 

Talk some more and get her on her ear!" 

Bob was somewhat flustered ; thought we hadn't 
heard. 
Then he said, "Well, ain't you tired o' ham?" 
"What of that?" says Wilcox. "Think of how 
she works! 
Spends her cash . . . !" (All Bob said then 
was, "Damn!") 
Grabbing up his Springfield, "Listen, you!" he 
snaps, 
"That's my motor and my gasoline. 
Sure she's spending money — but it comes from 
me; 
She's my sister, and her name's Irene !" 
26 



Then, as he marched himself into the night, 
We looked at each other a spell. 

"We've ditched our good luck — he won't let 
her come back," 
Says Wilcox. "Now isn't that hell!" 



27 



BUGLER BILL 

IDUGLER BILL — mild-mannered, shy — 
■*-' Is straight. . . . But I wonder if Bill 
would lie? 

Bugler Bill is a pensive lad, 

Whether he's workin' or not; 
Serious-faced an' pitiful sad — 

(Think he was goin' t' be shot!) 
Whenever he bugles, some of us cry — 

Reveille, taps, or mess— 
With musical sob-stuff Bill gets by, 

Plaintive and full of distress! 

Bugler Bill is never real gay, 

But built on a sour-face plan; 
Bill wouldn't laugh, whatever you'd say; 

Looks like a love-poisoned man. 
"Grin, ye hyenas," he'll say as he smokes; 

"I ain't a frivolous guy — " 
"Thinkin' of all of the pain you caused folks 

While learnin' to play?" asks I. 

Bugler Bill, he sighs as he turns, 

Shakin' his head at me. 
"A long while ago th' bugle I learns — 

So don't you git funny," says he. 
"My audience laughed till it cried salty tears. 

An' everyone called me a joy. 
/ was a clown in a circus for years — 

That's why I'm solemn, my boy!" 

Bugler Bill come "out of the Draft" — 
D'you s'pose at that joke he actually laughed? 
28 



HEINIE THE HOSTLER 

JLJE'S not very handsome or clever, 
■^ -^ He's slow in his wits — and he's fat, 
And yet he's a soldier of Uncle Sam's — 
Now, whaddy you know about that? 

We always called him Dummy, 

And thought he wouldn't fight; 
We sneered at him and jeered at him — 

He was — and is — a sight! 
His feet are big, his head is small. 

His German blood is slow. 
But at the call for volunteers. 

Why, didn't Heinie go? 

He's workin' as a hostler 

(He used to be a clerk) ; 
He don't enjoy his job, that boy, 

But Heinie is no shirk. 
"This is my country just as much 

As it is yours," says he; 
'Tm gonna do what I can do 

To keep it mine I . . . You'll see ! 

"My father, he come over here 
To get away from things; 
He couldn't abide on th' other side — 

Aristocrats and kings. 
The Stars and Stripes mean liberty, 

I've always understood; 
So gimme the right to work — or fight- 
I betcha I'll make good. 

29 



"As a chambermaid to horses 
In a battery that's new, 

The work is rough and mean enough 
And wouldn't appeal to you; 

But I've got my place and I'll stick to it- 
Can any man do more? 

I've never had a chance, like dad. 
To prove myself before." 

Perhaps he won't get a commission; 

Perhaps he IS dull, and all that; 
But somehow I feel that he's better than me- 

Now whaddy you know about that? 



30 



OUR JOB 

YOU mustn't hate the enemy — that wastes a 
lot of "pep"— 
The Colonel passed the word around the 
training camp to-day. 
The Captain says with modern war we gotta all 
catch step; 
"Cut out the rough-necked rage and talk, 
and don't you think or say: 



" 'Pirates, rapists, murderers; poisoners and 
lying thieves; 
Super-vandals, run amuck — black devils quot- 
ing sermons; 
This world was mostly Heaven-made, our 
Chaplain, he believes; 
But Hell itself conceived and spawned the 
Military Germans ! 

"The enemy is good at killing kids, and old 
folks, too; 
Torpedoing hospital ships and blowin' up 
our plants; 
But cogitatin' on their line of wicked things 
won't do; 
We'll never hate 'em off the map — just give 
the guns a chance!" 



31 



So we don't go in for loathin', and with anger 
we don't burn; 
We're drillin', and we're diggin', and we're 
workin' all the while; 
To put 'er in the target is the trick we hafter 
learn — 
And ev'ry man's a better shot when he can 
shoot — and smile ! 

The folks at home will spend their time 
a-broodin' over all 
The nasty devils do and on the details they 
can dwell; 
It's up to us to learn this game, and then — 
when comes the call — 
Pump lead into the enemy — and send him 
back to hell. 



32 



HER JOHNNY 

SINCE Johnny has joined the Marine corps, 
Of course he will do what he's told, 
And Johnny will be at home on the sea 

The day he is eighteen years old. 
Just what they expect of my baby 

Ain't clear to his maw; my, oh, my! 
But Johnny's a-wearin' the blue — and ain't 
carin' — 
He's gone! Is it wrong if I cry? 

It ain't been so long, I remember, 

That Johnny, my baby, was sick 
Whenever he'd get on a boat, and he'd fret 

Till we'd land — which was usually quick. 
But now, with his gun and his kit-bag. 

He's answered the call, bless his heart ! 
And he'll square out his jaw and think of his 
maw 

And go in to win from the start! 

My Johnny's not fightin' for pleasure 

(I know he'll be sea-sick, pore kid!) ; 
But he said, "If I stayed, they'd call me afraid; 

I gotta sign up" — and he did. 
So now I sit here, sorter dreamin' 

Of the days he was mine. They are done — 
I'm proud; but I wish — I could fix up a dish 

Of doughnuts for Johnny, my son ! 



33 



THE FIRST FLEET 

\T7E slid into the harbor here, 

' '^ A line of battle-cruisers gray, 
With hungry guns as silent as 

The bands aboard that did not play. 
The fog was soft, the fog was damp, 

The hush was thick and wide as space, 
But ev'ry man was standing at 

Attention in his given place. 

We'd made the port, with time to spare — 
And Uncle Sam's first Fleet was there! 

Then came those other navy men — ' 

Our allies in this troubled cause — 
Weary of holding back the Hun, 

Clipping, too slow, his cruel claws. 
Our Admiral, a few-words man, 

Greeted the visitors. . . . "We're here," 
He said, and that was all. They smiled — 

And said they hoped the weather'd clear. 

But still those men with tired eyes 
Felt mighty grateful, I surmise ! 

Around our Fleet — not very large — 
We took them, thoughtful faces set; 

And then back to the fog-soaked town 
They went — ^uncomfortably wet; 



34 



But In those eyes a happier light, 

That told him what they'd like to say — 

That they were glad he had come back, 
As he had hoped to do some day. 

Another fleet, with fresher men, 
Gave them a chance to breathe again! 

Before they left to go ashore 

(A crowd had gathered on the quay), 
"When can you start to work?" they asked. 

"How many hours will it be 
Before you're ready?" With a smile 

Our fighting Admiral replied 
(And there was joy in what he said, 

Mingled with pardonable pride) : 

"Soon as the enemy we meet! . . . 

We're ready NOW — men, guns, and Fleet." 

So that is how we started in 

To do our share — the Navy's "bit"; 
They were surprised, but Admiral Sims 

Had surely made a three-base hit 
With what he said. . . . And now it's up 

To us to do our hearty best 
To make the seas the old-time seas; 

Till that is done there'll be no rest. 

It is a job to stop the Hun, 

But — it's a job that must be done! 



35 



BRIGGS OF BASE No. 8 

TT may be that you know him. A slim and 
■*■ likely kid; 

Red-headed, tall, and soft of speech and 
glance. 
He never took a prize at school (his talents 
always hid), 
And yet he's got a medal from the Govern- 
ment of France! 

He didn't kill a lat of men; 

He never injured one;' 
He didn't hold a trench alone; 

He never manned a gun; 
He drove an ambulance — that's all; 

But those above him knew 
He'd take it into hell and back 

If he was ordered to ! 

That night (he'd been right on the job 

For twenty hours or more) 
They telephoned again for him — 

And as he cranked — he swore. 
Half dead for sleep, he drove too far. 

Straight into No Man's Land, 
And there he gathered up four men 

Who didn't understand 
Or care what happened. . . . Then a chap 

Sagging with gobs of mud 
He shoved into his throbbing car 

That smelled of drugs and blood. 

36 



The other roared, but Briggs, sleep-deaf, 

Stared at the moon on high — 
'Twas like some spent star-shell glued on 

A blue-black, tired sky — 
And didn't try to hear or think; 

He only tried to keep 
His car from sliding off the road — 

And not to fall asleep. 
The ambulance went skidding back 

(His chains had lost themselves). 
While now and then a growl came from 

Its stretcher-ladened shelves. 
Briggs never stopped, but when the groans 

Were punctured with a curse 
He told the weary moon, "At least 

This flivver is no hearse!" 
And slowly yawned again. ... At last 

They rounded Trouble Bend, 
Base Eight before them — and that ride 

Was at a welcome end. . . . 
The blood-stained orderlies came out 

To take the wounded in. 
Opened the doors to lift the wrecks . . . 

Before they could begin 
There tumbled out the mud-caked man, 

Whose mouth was shot away; 
A man who stared like some wild beast 

Finally brought to bay; 
For Briggs, Base Eight, American, 

Had brought (beside his four) 
A German officer, half drunk 

For need of rest! who swore 

37 



And cried, and then sank back again 
And fell asleep. . . . That's why 

They've decorated little Briggs — 
Red-headed, tall, and shy! 

"I didn't do a thing," he growls; 

" 'Twas just a fool mistake. 
And he'd have captured me, of course. 

If he had been awake. 
He tried to talk (his battered mouth 

Was just a shredded scar) ; 
But we were wasting time, and so 

I pushed him in the car 
And came on back. . . . Now, what is there 

About that sort of stuff 
To make a fuss for? I am not 

A hero. . . . Fm a bluff!" 
The surgeon smiles. . . . "If he can make 

A capture in the night 
When doing Red Cross work, what would 

He do if he should jightf 
He asks, and looks a long way off 

To where the pounding guns 
Are making other harmless wrecks 

Of one-time hellish Huns. 

I wonder if you know him ? A slim and quiet kid. 
Red-headed, tall, and soft of speech and 
glance ; 
He doesn't like to have you talk about the thing 
he did — 
And yet he's got a medal from the Govern- 
ment of France. 
38 



THE PENGUIN DRIVER 

A T home, he drove a taxi, 
-^^ A job he'd now disdain; 
He's learning (on a queer machine) 

To drive an aeroplane. 
It doesn't fly — it glumps along 

And bumps him, ev'ry chance; 
His tumbling, rumbling "Penguin" 

Out there — Somewhere in France. 

It isn't fun to drive it, 

But he's not out for fun; 
He's going to learn to drop good bombs 

Upon the no-good Hun! 
And so, until he graduates, 

He makes his Penguin prance — 
His bumping, jumping Penguin 

Out there — Somewhere in France. 

As soon as he's a pilot, 

(And earned his Golden Wings) 
He'll take the air on high, you bet 

And do some bully things ! 
The Prussians will be sorry 

He ever learned to dance 
With a rearing, tearing Penguin 

Out there — Somewhere in France. 



39 



WAITIN' 

T> ACK of the Front in this durn trainin' camp, 
^^ Day after day we are stuck, an' we swear 
Whenever we hear th' regular tramp 

Of th' men who are through and are goin' 

somewhere. 
We're all of us willin', but why keep us 

drillin' 
Forever? . . . Just waitin' for somethin' 
to do ! # 

At home they are readin' th' outlandish name 

Of a battle that's won or a hero that's dead 

Of a stunt that had won him a place in this 

Game — 

But all that I've won is a cold in my head! 

While others are fightin' we're readin' or 

writin' — 
An' the censors will see that it don't get to 
you! 

We long for a scrap that will sizzle the blood ; 

We hone for a chance to bust in a head; 
This marchin' an' diggin' in acres of mud 

Ain't as excitin' as bein' plain dead. 

War may be a curse, but this here is worse — 

This dreamin' th' dreams that never come 
true. 

All set for a mix-up that we can't begin ; 

Ready and anxious for whatever comes. 
We're linked to the side-lines. . . . Ain't it a 
sin, 
40 



Spendin' good hours a-twiddlin' thumbs? 
Seems like a crime to waste so much time 
A-waitin' — an' waitin'! You'd find it so, 
too. 

My bunkie is peevish, and I'm out of tune; 

The Capting's a grouch whenever we hike; 
If we don't get into this muss pretty soon, 

We fellers are likely to go on a strike! 

We signed for a scrap, not a tea or a nap, 

Or to wait. 

And to wait. 

And to wait — 

Till it's through! 



41 



WE'RE ALL RIGHT HERE! 

\X7 HAT'S th' meanin' of the look you see 
' ' in soldiers' eyes? 

Some of them you thought would kick an' 
stall around an' howl; 
But just listen (if they'll talk) an' hear, to your 
surprise, 
A lot of laughs, a lot o' tales — but never once 
a growl! 

Business man and bell hop. 

Farmer boy and clerk; 
Easy-going spendthrifts, 

Men that have to work; \ 

Firemen and brokers. 

Chauffeurs still "in gear"; 
The army is the melting pot — 

We're all right here! 

Desk men and road men. 

Men who sweep the street; 
Coal men and plumbers 

(If they have good feet) ; 
Showmen and film stars, 

All have mislaid fear. 
Funny crowd; but we should fret — 

We're all right here! 

Keen men and dull men. 

Razor-edged or dumb. 
High-grade and low-grade, 
Some, plain medium; 
42 ^ 



Feet upon the drill-ground, 

Hearts all beating high; 
You are glad that you are here, 

And so, old top, am I! 

That's the meaning of the call; ev'ry man is 
proud 
He is in the common cause, with a bunch of 
men 
Fighting for democracy, lined up with this 
crowd — 
God ! It's pretty nifty just to be a man again! 



43 



REPRISAL 

CISTER Susie's sittln' knittin' 

^ Sweaters, wristlets, scarfs, an' socks; 

She ain't "sewin' shirts for soldiers" 

'Cause she got so many knocks 
From th' papers 'bout her sewin' — 

Now she's knittin' pounds of yarn 
Into things to send away. . . . Well, 
I don't care. 
Don't care a darn! 

Hasn't knit no scarf or sweater, 
Hasn't made no socks for me; 

Little brother, he can rustle 
For himself alone, you see! 

Maw is on the Help Committee, 
Paw is drillin' with th' Guard; 

Brother's soldierin' — and sister's 

Knittin' fast 

An' awful hard! 

No, they won't pay me no 'tention, 

So I'm goin' to run away. 
Join th' army as a — as a 

Bellboy, may be, without pay. 
Then I'll get a scarf an' sweater 

And some socks, soon as I go. 
From some other feller's sister 
That I do not 
Even know. 



44 



THE SOUL OF SERGEANT TODD 

T wasn't so much of a soldier," said the soul 
■*• of Sergeant Todd, 

(Fumbling at his medal, that statement sounded 

odd.) 
"I wasn't so much of a fighter, but when they 

came, and came, 
Yelling and shooting, I just got mad, and I 
reckon I did the same. 
Into my trench they piled — just boys — 
Making a most outlandish noise." 

A Corporal's soul beside him nodded and mus- 
tered a smile: 

"You handled a dozen at once," he said; "they 
didn't come single file. 

If you wasn't *much of a soldier,' or shirked 
in your duty — well, say. 

What sort of a chance have other men got 
when tested on Judgment Day? 
You fought them all, you did; and when 
They quit, you started in again!" 

"Shut up!" said the soul of Sergeant Todd?" 
"you're still in my squad, McQuade, 

I say that I lacked what you did not lack — 
courage to die, unafraid. 

I was a coward, a trembling coward, deep in 
my craven heart; 



45 



I fought with the fear of that fear at my soul, 
playing no hero's part! 
You can't understand it — ^but I 
Had none of the courage — to die! 

"And now that I'm dead," said the troubled 
soul of the one-time Sergeant Todd, 

"It didn't seem right that those who live should 
think I have met our God 

As a brave man does : his honor clear, with his 
courage unscathed and whole. 

On this high plane there is no room for a fear- 
troubled human soul; 
"So Sergeant Todd" (he bowed his head) 
"Fears no more — for his body's dead I" 



46 



THE BUSY LADY 

TIIT'E meet ev'ry week to make surgical dress- 
^ ^ ings — 

And one woman does it dead wrong; 
I watched her a day — then I just had to say, 

"My dear! If I may — that's too long!" 
While I was explaining the teacher came by — 

She's so crosss that her mouth's just a line — 
And found fault with me and my work. . . . 
After that 

I'll mind no one's business but mine! 

To-day I was filling my neighbor's slow mind 

With War-Garden ideas and lore, 
When a dog I don't know just ruined mine — so 

I'll not advise her any more ! 
Then a talk that I gave to the Home Service 
Group 
On "Waste" was quite spoiled — though 
'twas fine — 
By my bread burning up while I talked. . . . 
After this 
I'll mind no one's business but mine! 

At a lecture on "Hospital Units at Work" 
A woman (who looked fifty-three) 

Ere the talk had begun started crying 

Her son 
Has gone, she confided to me. 



47 



"But you should be hrave and 'buck up'," I re- 
marked. 
"And yours?" she asked. . . . How did she 
divine 
That / am not married? . . . Oh, well, after 
this 
I'll mind no one's business — ^b-but mine! 



48 



OVERDOING IT 

^ I "'HIS horrid old war is right in our house 

-*• Making itself at home, goodness sakes ! 

The scraps from our table won't feed a mouse 

We've cut out desserts, salads, and cakes. 
Monday is meatless and Tuesday is dry, 

Wednesday is sugarless , too, gee whiz! 
Our plates must be cleaned, they tell us. That's 
why 
We eat the garbage before it is! 

So I bought a melon the other day 

When ma was 'tending a Red Cross tea. 
I wanted it awful bad. . . . Anyway 

It wasn't so h'lg — just right for me — 
And then, just to keep from wasting a drop, 

I ate it all up I . . . Our colored Liz 
Says Pa told the doctor, "My fault, old top — 

" 'We eat the garbage before it is.' " 

The doctor was writing a 'scription note 

When I come to, turned over and grinned. 
And he frowned at Pa, as he wrote and wrote. 

Till Pa grew red like his cheeks was skinned. 
"Eating the garbage? Now, listen, man. 

If that's your game it's good for my biz. 
But if / was you, I surely would 'can' 

" 'We eat the garbage before it is I' " 



49 



THE GIVERS 

T 'VE given a lot of my time and work 
-* To helping my country," says he; 
''No one can tell you that I am a shirk 
In the great cause of Liberty!" 
(Perhaps you have met him? 
Well, then, forget him!) 

John Lampas was a Greek, 

John Lampas isn't now; 
He's just a plain American 

And eating soldier chow. 
He joined the army recently, 

But first — he gave away 
His touring car, his watch, his cash 

To the Red Cross one day, 
And then enlisted. "That's all I can do," 
He said; "and I'm glad to give it, for true!" 

He doesn't ask for praise. 

For jollies, or for guff; 
He gave because this land gave him 

A chance — which was enough I 
He hasn't got a dollar; 

He's just a khakied man. 
But, somehow, he seems mighty like 

A true American! 
His cash and his watch and his auto he gave. 
And then himself. Was that foolish, or brave? 



50 



So when I hear that other chap 
Congratulate himself because 
He gave "some time" — I'd like to rap 
Him once across his selfish paws I 
(Because I have met him — 
/ want to forget him!) 



51 



HULLO, SOLDIER 1 HOW'S THE 
BOY? 

WE'RE not a bit deluded by the notion 
That this is just a picnic, or that we 
Enlisted for a trip across the ocean — 

There's work ahead, not just a joyous spree. 
Of course we sing and talk and sometimes 
dance ; 
But get this in your mind — that when we hear 
"Hullo, Soldier I How's the boy?" as we dis- 
embark in France, 
They will hear us answer, "Ready 1" 

Loud and clear; 
They will see that we are ready, 
Never fear. 

Don't you think that we are just a bunch of 
flivvers ; 
We've measured up the job that must be done 
And we know what we are facing, though the 
shivers 
Don't turn our spines to rubber — not a one ! 
The Prussian scorned the world. Well, let him 
scorn it 
(The world exchanges loathing for that 
scorn) ; 
We haven't put on khaki to adorn it, 
But to make the Prussian sorry 

He was born; 
And to send him back, his "Kultur" 
Banner tornl 
52 



So it doesn't matter that some foolish people 

Bemoan the fact this Army's on the go; 
Unless it is, the harvest they will reap'll 

Be slavery or death, they ought to know. 
It isn't what they want or what we'd like — 
It's what we've ^ot to do. . . . When others 
say, 
"Hullo, Soldier! How's the boy?" as we drill 
and shoot and hike, 
They must hear us answer, "Ready!" 

Ev'ry day, 
It's this nation's debt to France we've 
Come to pay! 



53 



BEANS 

A SIMPLE ditty Private Smithy sang for me, 
Entitled "Beans." . . . The tune was 
not a joy; 
The words were commonplace as they could -be, 
But just to hear his earnest voice — ^"Oh, 
Boy!" 

When first I went a-sojerin' 

I couldn't eat the stuff 
The cookies gave the bunch of us, 

For it was rough and tough. 
But since I've been a-sojerin' 

And learned what livin' means 
The grub we get tastes mighty good, 

E-special-lee th' beans, 

Especially th' beans! 

We all were soft and flabby — 

Our hands and muscles, too — 
We had been used to easy things 

To eat, to think, to do. 
But when we tackled trench work. 

With all that diggin' means. 
We learned to like the sojer grub, 

E-special-lee th' beans. 

Especially th' beans. 

So now we're very diff'rent 

When mess-call comes around; 

We've got our appetites all set 
A-waitin' for that sound; 
54 



It's always "second helpin's" 

Behind the mess-tent screens; 
We're glad for Uncle Sam's good grub, 

E-special-lee th' beans, 

Especially th' beans ! 

A very simple ditty, you'll agree with me; 

A commonplace production; but the joy 
And unction that he puts into the melody, 

The splendid appetite he sings — Oh, Boy! 



55 



BEHIND THE LINES 

V^T'E number hundreds of thousands, and 
'^' we're nowhere near the front; 

We're pen and pencil pushers, or "serving" 
the adding machines; 
We'll never reach the firing-line, nor bear its 
hellish brunt — 
But where'd they be if it weren't for us, 
workers behind the scenes? 

Book-keeper, paymaster, spectacled clerk. 
Doing our bit, though it's every day work — 
We're all of us part of The Service ! 



We're the backwash whirl of the pool of War 
gathering in the men. 
We cannot fight as others fight, though just 
as loyal and true; 
We're the silent corps of the Men Behind, 
over and over again 
Doing our part in the war for Right, small 
though it seem to you. 

Figuring, checking-up, testing all day. 
Knowing no hours — and not too much pay — 
We're all of us part of The Service. 



S^ 



If it takes ten men behind the- front to put one 
on the Line, 
(We all remember the speech that cheers the 
backwash, anyhow!) 
We're putting them there — and do not ask for 
furloughs . . . That's a sign 
We're not the guests of the Government — 
we're in The Service now. 

A cog in the big machine? Maybe — 
But a cog that doesn't complain, you see — 
We're all of us part of The Service! 



57 



THE DISAPPOINTED 

'T^HERE'S a Red Cross Button on his left 
■*- lapel, 

And a Liberty Bond pin on his right; 
There's a U. S. flag above the Red Cross, too; 

His patriotism's never out of sight! 
His loyalty is spread on his hollow breast 

(And sometimes he's pathetic, I confess), 
But the button that he's most ashamed to wear 

Is the one that reads 

EXEMPT 
U. S. 

There's an aching heart in his 28-chest, 

There's a look of deep longing in his eyes; 
Behind his heavy glasses there gleams a hope 

That maybe he can grow an inch in size ! 
There's a hero-throb in the heart of that boy, 

Though he wears too much "scenery" — ah, 
yes! — 
But the badge that hurts he really tries to hide — 

It's the one that reads 

EXEMPT 
U. S. 

You fellows that are in — have a heart for those 
Who want to be, but can't! For they must 
know 
A bitterness of soul you can never feel — 
They haven't got a chance on earth to go ! 
58 



So it's, "Stay back home with the old and unfit," 
(There's nothing else to do but that, I guess ! ) 

The badge he'd be glad to throw a mile away 
Is the one that reads 

EXEMPT 
U. S. 



59 



GOODBYE, BOYS I 

T INE after line, you swung along, 
"*— ' You men, who only a while ago 
Were just a part of the city's throng 

Working for self, sedate and slow. 
But now — what a diff'rence ! Living throbs 

Of the Nation's heart! Her reborn men; 
And some who saw you gulped back sobs — 

And wished you were marching home again ! 
Our eyes were dim as you went past. 
For we knew you — at last! 

We felt that every senseless joke 

About a soldier, wherever made, 
Would make us ashamed. . . . For now we 
choke 
Whenever the Colors and you parade! 
Wherever that O. D. uniform 

Shall gladden the eyes of we useless men 
We can't forget who is meeting the storm — 
That some of you won't come home again! 
You went. . . . We talked. . . . God blot 

the past! 
For we know you — at last! 



60 



THAT'S ALL 

^TpO take this trouble seriously, 
-*- But not to gloom or whine; 
To never overestimate 

Our strength, or to decline 
To see this is no picnic. 

But do our earnest part 
With brain and muscles, newly trained- 

To keep a steady heart I 



To fight, but not to lower 

Our standards in the dust; 
To meet a savage enemy 

Whose words the world can't trust. 
To guard our foolish tempers — 

Or keep them out of sight! 
To never falter, doubt, or fear 

The outcome will be right! 



To laugh — whenever laughter 

Is best to keep us fit; 
To shake hands with privation 

When face to face with it. 
To give without complaining 

Or boasting what we give; 
To make this world a safer world 

For those who have to live ! 



6i 



To part with old traditions 
That hampered in the past; 

To see that heart-wrung "aliens" 
As enemies aren't classed, 

But treated — while deserving it — 
As human beings, too; 

Just to ^^ clean — in mind and soul — 
That's all we have to do! 



62 



AN AMERICAN CREED 

CTRAIGHT thinking, 
^ Straight talking, 
Straight doing, 
And a firm belief in the might of right. 

Patience linked with patriotism, 
Justice added to kindliness. 
Uncompromising devotion to this country. 
And active, not passive, Americanism. 

To talk less, to mean more. 
To complain less, to accomplish more, 
And to so live that every one of us is ready to 
look Eternity in the face at any moment, and 
be unafraid! 



63 



IN OTHER KEYS 



YOUTH O' THE YEAR 

WRITE me," she ordered, nodding her 
head, 
"A song of the rippling Spring that is gone — 
A song that's different from songs that are 
dead — 
Different as sunset is from the dawn. 
Sparkling with happiness, heavy with dew, 
Trilling and thrilling, all the way through; 
Fill it with heaven's own laughing blue — 
Write it!" she said. So I wrote it — "Love's 
Pawn." 

I spoke of the sunshine caught in her hair; 
I sang of the peach blossom's pink in her 
face; 
I mentioned the heavenly blue with great care 
That colored her wonderful eyes. And her 
grace 
1 likened to that of a slender young tree 
Bowing and laughing when breezes blow free; 
In fact, there was naught in the Spring I could 
see 
Save this girl who with Love would ever keep 
pace. 

She took it and read it, that poor thing of 
mine — 
Old as a saga, young as the year — 
Drank in the similes (flattering winel), 
Then gave her verdict, "You are a dear; 

67 



Surely no girl ever had such a song 
Written for her; I will treasure it long; 
It's so original — clever — and strong; 

How could you know me so well — in one 
year?" 

I read it myself — and grew red, I confess, 
As a good workman should, when a poor job 
is done; 
But the joy of her laugh and the sweet, swift 
caress 
Overpaid me, a hundred to one ! . . . 
And then as she stood on the brow of the hill 
And swayed in the wind, as Youth ever will, 
I think that I heard her silv'ry laugh trill . . . 
But perish the thought that she'd spoken in 
fun! 



68 



UNFINISHED 

'' I ^HE radiant dawn flows up the empty sky, 
-■- Its singing colors heralding the day, 
And yet, before the tardy sun Is high. 

Unfinished morning fades and slips away. 
While Nature holds her fragrant breath at 

dawn 
Watching the loveliness she's made — it's gone ! 



From dew-drenched garden thrills a thrush's 
call- 
That liquid note that all night long was 
stilled — 
The living chalice, brown and bright and small. 

Seems with the joy of living overfilled — 
Then suddenly, unfinished, clear and sweet 
The song is drowned in noises from the street. 

So at the edge of dusk my love for you 

Would speak to your white soul, would 
humbly come 
To tell the age-old story, ever new — 

But in the pulsing twilight Love is dumb ! 
Oh, heart of mine, within your quiet breast 
Unfinished dawn — and song — and love — find 
rest I 



69 



PAID IN ADVANCE 

1X7 HAT is the cost of a day in Spring — 
^^ A wind-swept, rain-washed golden day? 
A day that with joy is bubbling — 

And dancing adown a world mad-gay? 

You've paid for that day with days gone by — 
The gloomy days and the days of rain; 

The days that you'd like to forget — and try — 
Days that were tuned to a note of pain. 

Others there are who will never forget 
The lowering clouds and the sodden world, 

But — though you paid as they paid, eyes wet — 
Your banner of courage was still unfurled! 

That was the price of this day in June, 

Paid in advance with a shrug and a smile — 

While others complained, you heard a tune. 
Making the gloomiest day worth while! 



70 



WE RODE AT NIGHT 

WE rode at night, and the cut-steel stars 
Daggered the black of the quiet sky; 
Yet Venus had taken the place of Mars 

In the Scheme of the Silent Worlds on high. 
The ribbon of road ran straight ahead; 

The night air whipped your hair and your 

face, 
Our hearts kept time to the horses' pace. 
And we were alive, and our blood was red ! 

We rode at night. . . . Though you did not 
speak 

I nearer drew — ^there was none to see — 
Love lent me strength to an arm not weak. 

And I swept you out of your saddle — to me ! 
I rowelled your horse and he thundered on. 

While in my arms you cuddled, and sighed; 

And I kissed your hair and lips — and lied 
When you asked if the coming light was the 
dawn? 

We rode at night; and our love, new-found. 
Gloried our way, as the pace slowed down; 

Heart against heart, your fingers wound 
Close about mine, ere we reached the town. 

You cared, you cared! Though your firm 
white hand 
Was cut by the reins you had held too long, 
"Dear Cave-man, I love you," you said; "is 
it wrong?" 

O, wonderful night in a wonderful land! 

71 



We ride no more, for the years have fled, 

The wine of hot Youth is down to the lees; 
Broken in body, I dream, instead. 

Of the gold-shot Past that age ever sees. 
We ride no more. . . . Yet the scar is still there 

On the brave little hand that I kissed that 
night. 

And my love is as strong as the hand is white ; 
But I wonder — I wonder — do you still care? 



72 



NOW— AND THEN 

A THOUSAND years from now, how will 
•^^ this earth 

Conduct itself? Will there be wars, and men 
Inventing things ? Or will there be a dearth 

Of ideas (such as we feel, now and then?) 
Nobody knows. We can surmise, perchance — 
But glancing that far off is quite some glance ! 

A thousand years from now — in Time's swift 
flight— 
The areoplane itself may be passe, 
And transportation on a beam of light 

The natural and the ordinary way. 
Men may have bodies made of metals cold 
To match the hearts and brains those bodies 
hold! 

A thousand years from now — why should we 
care 
What Science then brings forth — we won't 
be here 
To worry over things or to compare 

The present with our past — won't that be 
queer? 
But men, as now, will hope (as we have done) 
That each new year will be a better one I 



73 



UNDERSTOOD 

/^UT of the ruck and the roar of life 
^•^ He stepped aside to rest one day, 

And the flowers that grew along the way 
Lifted him out of the wearisome strife 

That had claimed his every waking thought 
For years . . . and a miracle had been 
wrought ! 

"Why have I never seen the rose 

Just as a rose before?" asked he. 

"Always its cost was the point to me, 
And not its sweetness ! Do you suppose 

That all these years — how long, God 
knows I — 

I really have not understood the rose?" 

Walking along the quiet street 
He noted a sick and fretting child; 
And he waved his hand and paused and 
smiled 
Till the baby laughed — and its laugh was sweet. 
His eyes were dim as his hand he kissed 
To the child, and he whispered, "And that 
I have missed!" 

To the end of the day that was full of care 
The song in his heart was strong and new, 
And the woman who loved him heard it too : 

"Now that his soul is awake, I dare 

Hope that he understands me," she said; 
But I fear he didn't — until he was dead I 
74 



THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT 

'*A MERRY CHRISTMAS!" You who 
■*^^ make each day 
A little less unhappy for some soul 
Weighted with sorrow ; you who have been gay 
For others' sake — although you paid the toll 
In the still watches of the weary night, 

Fighting despair. You who have faced the 
world 
With spirit and put cowardice to flight; 

You, with your rugged banner still un- 
furled — 
"A Merry Christmas I" For in you I see 
The Vision of the Man that I would be ! 

"A Merry Christmas!" Through the winter 
chill. 
The singing spring — hot summer and drear 
fall, 
You go your way, seeking for good, not ill, 
Remembering life's joy and not its gall; 
Clasping the hand that trembles, when you may. 
Spending your love whole-heartedly the 
while 
For those who need it now, nor wait that day 

When they no longer care for word or smile. 
Doing your part with all sincerity — 
A Vision of the Man that I would be ! 



75 



THE REASON 

** I ^HE fetching airs ybu have; the way you 
■'' sing, dear; 

The pretty uplift of your round, firm chin; 

Into my heart the sunshine daily bring, dear; 

To be downcast when you're here were a sin I 

Yet ev'ry motion, ev'ry smile and word, dear, 

I know full well — and lost are their effect. 
All of your bell-like tones you see, I've heard, 
dear, 
. When they were meant for me — and came 
direct. 

That golden hair! How well you know its 
worth, dear, 

To draw enraptured praise from lovers bold ! 
I, too, know well that from its very birth, dear. 

Its meshes have entrapped the young and old. 
Yet, when I watch you laughing, teasing — ^you, 
dear. 

Who have been given such a hold on hearts, 
I do not thrill as all the others do, dear; 

Lost on me (in a manner) are your arts! 

Not that I'm jealous, indifferent, or cold, dear; 

Not that I don't approve of all your charms ; 
Not that you're "just a little bit too old," dear; 

Nor that you are a tiny babe in arms! 
No, no ; you're sweet, and fresh, and fair, dear, 

Unspoiled, delightful — really "all the rage." 
But somehow I can't seem to rightly care, 
dear — 

I wooed your mother — when she was your 
age! 



THE MODERN WAY 

OF tender missives— decorated treasures — 
Of violets and roses, passing sweet; 
Of throbbing heart-songs, tuned to lilting meas- 
ures ; 
Of fervent verse — with somewhat halting 
feet; 
Of every dainty Valentine that's fashioned 

You've had a rather goodly share each year ; 
So will you take, in place of love-impassioned 
Epistles, something quieter, my dear? 
Three words I'll send — that is, if they're 

enough 
To take the place of all that flossy stuff ! 

Throughout the year life is so full of trouble, 

Saint Valentine, alas! is shoved aside; 
Beneath grim work the lover's back must 
double, 
And then he lets poor sentiment go slide 1 
We try to think of what you'd have us say, dear, 
But when we've coaxed a good thought half 
way out, 
A money-making idea's in the way, dear, 
And then Love's gentle troops are put to rout. 
So — ^with a business missive in each hand — 
Will three words do? Or do you more de- 
mand? 



77 



Gone are the days when troubadors sang daily 
Of hearts and flowers, Jips and eyes and hair ; 

We take (I fear) our deep emotions gaily, 
And think we haven't time to love or care. 

Yet once a year it shouldn't be impossible 
To Valentine a little, that is true; 

Then gloss the faults of mine you think are 
glossible. 
And I will troubador a bit for you; 
So, by the stars that shine above you. 
Hark to my valentine, my dear, / love you! 



78 



BECAUSE—! 

npHIS thing of writing "homely verse," 
-■■ With country phrases, jokes and slang ; 
With "jiminies!" "by hecks!" and such, 

With "backwoods" odor, taste and tang — 
This thing, I say, of making light 

Of country life is funny — not! 
I'd like to know where we would be 

If farms were all to go to pot! 

We talk a lot of "backyard farms," 

"Intensive gard'ning" — "how to raise 
All vegetables that you need 

On ten square feet in twenty days." 
We figure fortunes that six hens 

Will bring us — if we keep 'em penned; 
And yet, when farmers are the butt 

Of jokes, who rises to defend? 

I'm weary of this silly pose, 

This pseudo-humor, sickly wit; 
I will not laugh or even smile 

When at the farmers jokesmiths hit. 
Especially this time of year 

I do denounce it! (Uncle Jim 
Out on his farm lives well — and he 

Has asked us all to visit him!) 



79 



THAT SMILE 

T SURE do like that kid, although I know 
■■■ He's rotten spoiled, and ought to be sup- 
pressed. 
He's boiling over with boy-nonsense I So 

The neighbors have no chance to get a rest. 
Not bad, you understand; just "some unlucky" 

In getting caught at things, once in a while; 
Yet when he does, he never runs — he's plucky! 

But plays that smile of his, that flashing 
smile. 

Sometimes when he has done a foolish thing — 

Like "hoeing weeds" with our best garden 
hose, 
Or in the rose bed "built a min'rul spring," 

He's bound to make me peevish, goodness 
knows 1 
Yet when he tries to " 'splain it all" to me, 

I don't succumb a moment to his guile; 
I'm stern, as stern, indeed, as I can be — 

Until he smiles that mother-given smile! 

Perhaps he doesn't understand how strong 

A weapon he possesses — Gracious me! 
Disarmed by it, I can not right the wrong 

By scolding him, however forcefully. 
I do believe, if Fate itself were bent 

On breaking him, 'twould hesitate a while 
And feel ashamed! . . . He wins without in- 
tent 

Because — God bless him! — he knows when 
to smile. 



THE GIFT OF GIFTS 

T F Antoinette were sitting here before the 
-*- cheery blaze, 

And she should ask me what I'd like to-mor- 
row — day of days — 
Would not my heart leap to my mouth, as any 
chap's would do. 
While leaning down to her pink ear, I softly 
whispered, "You!" 

If Antoinette were just to give me half a chance 
to say 
What gift of gifts I'd like the best, how long 
would I delay 
In taking her into my arms and keeping her 
there, too, 
While earnestly I answer her with one brief, 
heartfelt "You!" 

If Antoinette, dear Antoinette, were simply to 
suggest 
That question, don't you think that I would 
quickly do the rest? 
Well, you'd be wrong, because, alas! a year 
ago — or two — 
She asked Jim what he wanted, and the lucky 
chap said "You!" 



8i 



THE NEIGHBORS 

T70R years and years I practiced — 
■^ Tum-tum, tum-tum, tee-tum! 
Pounding up and down the scale, 
White keys, black keys — 
They all fell beneath my faithful hammering; 
And then — my pretty neighbor across the street 
Put in a player-piano that could tear a hole 
Through classics that I'd never learned even 

to dent! 
I was mad — hopping mad — 
But I got even with her. 
(She was studying for the operatic stage.) 
I bought a phonograph — cheap — 
And some records — not cheap. 
They made her gargling voice 
Sound like an imitation with a small i. 
Then we both laughed — rand quit our exercises. 
To-day she's a moving picture actress, 
Using her big eyes in a financially-effective way, 
While I write things in prose or jingle 
Or verse that is free-on-bail. 
Sometimes I get by with it; and 
Sometimes she doesn't spoil a film — 
Isn't the public lucky that we didn't 
Stick to our callings ? 



82 



UNCLE BILL'S IDEA 

I'VE figgered out that worryin' don't pay a 
little bit, 
Fer every feller's got to have some trouble 
in his day ; 
An' wonderin' what's comin' next don't help to 
sidetrack hit — 
You can't foretell afflictions, or stop 'em, 
thataway ! 
It's better jest to take what's sent 
And stand it, ef you ain't content I 

Looks like to me that every one has got a large 
amount 
Of things to bear that he don't like, as 
through this life he goes; 
And though of happy days we're apt to lose the 
rightful count, 
Things even up before we die, as every old 
man knows. 
There ain't no great monopoly 
On sickness ner bad luck, I gee! 

We've got to stand our share of pain and meet 
a heap of sorrow; 
We've got to shoulder burdens that no one 
likes to tote; 
But worryin' about the load, and thinkin' of th' 
morrow 
Don't make it one mite easier, er cheerfuller, 
I note! 

83 



Th' way to do is jest t' grin 
And hope for better times ag'in; 
"But I can't grin I" some people say. 
Then don't — ^but bear it, anyway! 



84 



'LIZABETH ANN'S PICTURE 

A/TA wanted a good, new picture of me; so 

-*-^-*- pa says, " 'Lizabeth Ann, 

You come down town at noon to-day, and we'll 

go to the picture man; 
But don't tell mother — we'll have a surprise for 

her on Christmas day. 
And give her a real nice photograft — I know 

just what she will say." 
"Oh, goody!" I says, "I am awful glad! I'll 

be there at noon, you see." 
(I like to have a secret with pa — it's awful 

much fun for me.) 

I runned away at 'leven o'clock, and ma didn't 

see me go. 
Although I had dressed in my very best — and 

that takes time, you know — 
My party frock, and my best kid shoes; my 

furs and my "picture" hat. 
And my new red coat — the one she says, "Be 

careful, my dear, of that." 
And when I got to his office, pa looked awful 

surprised, and said, 
"Dear me, what a dressed-up little girl ! Why, 

really, you turn my head!" 

And then we went to the picture man. He's 

nice enough, I s'pose, 
But what do you think he said to me? "You 

seem to be mostly clothes !" 

85 



So pa and the man made me undress, till all 

that I had on me 
Was my shirtwaist slip — my arms and neck was 

bare as they both could be! 
It made me feel umbarrassed! And then I 

guess that I nearly cried, 
But pa just patted me on the head and said he 

was satisfied. 

And now the pictures are finished up, and one 

is already framed; 
But ma'll be mad, I am pretty sure — I know 

that / feel ashamed; 
For all that you see is my head and neck — and 

not a bit of my dress — 
She'll think I was funny to go down-town with 

so little on, I guess! 
Yet pa says, "Never you mind, my dear — ^blame 

it on me or the man; 
But mother will like it, you see if she don't — she 

wanted you, 'Lizabeth Ann." 



86 



THE SMALL BOY EXPLAINS 

COME people say the sky is blue 
^ Acause it's warshed by rains up there; 
I dunno if 'at's so, do you? 

And I don't care — -and I don't care ! 

I ' 

I ain't no sky, an' I don't like 

To have my face warshed, anyhow; 
My nurse says I'm a "naughty tike 

To run away" or raise a row. 

But ef she daubed mud on like this 
A-purpose, so's the boys would play 

With her — and not call her a "sis," 
She'd hate to warsh it all away! 

That's why the blue sky'll never mean 

A in-spi-ra-tion er a "joy"; 
A-course it can be nice an' clean — 

It won't be called a "sissy-boy." 



87 



THE BOLD LOVER 

T_T E held her hand, and joy shone in his eyes ; 
■■■ ^ The world and all therein to him was 

fair; 
What mattered now the gloomy, lowering skies ? 
For what the future held he did not care! 
He only knew he loved her and that she 
Was everything a real sweetheart should be. 

He held her hand. . . . The car was crowded, 
too; 
The passengers could not suppress their 
smiles. 
The love he felt, perhaps, obscured his view, 
So wrapt was he in all her pretty wiles. 
And when he kissed her rosy lips, a hush 
Fell on them as they saw her slowly blush ! 

He held her hand and gazed about with pride. 
As though to challenge those who'd say him 
nay; 

He held her hand — and nestling to her side, 
The interested audience heard him say; 

"Oh, Momie, dear, you're sweet as any rose — '■ 

I love you more dan anybody knows." 



IMAGINATION 

/^NCET, when I was a gret big man, I got 

^^ mad at the way 

01' nurses bossed the childruns an' so I wouldn't 

stay; 
I jest got up and pushed my house right 

over — yes, I did; 
An' then I turned the streets all round, and 

runned away and hid! 
When I come back, my childruns was cryin' 

awful loud, 
Fer nobody knowed wher they lived, an' there 

was such a crowd. 
I says, "Now, folks must shet their eyes — don't 

open them a crack!" — 
An' then I straightened out the streets, an' put 

the houses back. 

'N oncet I was a neluphant, as big as all out- 
doors, 

'N every time I turned around it shook the 
roofs and floors; 

I walked down to the river, and I drunk it up — 
ALL up, 

Jest like it was some cambric tea in my ol' silver 
cup. 

An' when the people come fer me, I jest set 
down, kerplunk! 

An' squashed 'em flat — an' picked them up — an' 
packed 'em in my trunk! 

89 



'N then I twist my trunk off, an' throwed 

it all away — 
You better let me go, Louise — I might do that 

to-day ! 

You won't? All right — you'd better did, for 

one time long ago. 
Before I gotter be a boy, I was a bear — oh, 

no — 
I was a snake — a yaller snake, an' I was ten 

MILES long, 
'N all I et was nurse girls — yes, I DID, although 

'twas wrong. 
That was a million years ago, but something — 

inside me — 
Tells me I'm goin' to be a snake again — jest 

watch and see! 
You don't believe a word I say? Well, I don't 

care — I DO — 
How could I 'member all these things, unlessen 

they was true? 



90 



WILLING TO TRADE 

'' I ^HE doctor brung a baby up to our house 
-*- last week — 

A little bit of thing it is — ^but my! it's gotta 

squeak I 
It makes a noise that's twice as big as you ex- 
pect to hear, 
And then ma says, "Go right away — you 
mustn't tease him, dear!" 
She seems to like it more than me — 
But I ain't jealous, no, siree! 

I told the boys, and Billy Black, he says, "Well, 
that is nice. 

But I would rather have my dog — ^they're 
worth more at the price. 

For pa says babies cost a lot to feed and dress 
and train, 

And Rover, he is smart, he is, and gotter splen- 
did brain!" 
I kinder feel that very way — 
But ma says baby's come to stay. 

Frank Brown has got a billygoat that pulls him 

on his sled. 
And Kenneth's got a ponycart; but pa looked 

cross and said 
I mustn't talk so foolish when I asked him if 

I might 
Go trade our baby for a pony or a goat, last 

night. 

91 



I s'pose he knew nohody'd trade 

A goat for any baby made! 
I wouldn't mind it, I believe, if any boy I knew 
Would envy me for what we've got, but that's 
what they won't do! 



92 



THE LONELY CHILD 

TT takes so long to grow up big and get to 

■'■ to be a man, 

I wisht sometimes that I'd been born as old as 

Mary Ann; 
(She is the cook, and she's so old her teeth come 

out at night), 
'Cause then I wouldn't want a boy to play with 

or to fight. 
But now I go upstairs and down 

And get in people's way, 
Because there ain't no children here 

To play with every day. 

The house next door is big and fine, but nobody 

lives there; 
And all the winders, like big eyes, just stare at 

me, and stare, 
Until I run back in our house and 'tend like I 

can't see, 
And feel my way around the rooms till ma, 

she says to me : 
"My goodness, Rob, what is this game? 

Pretending you are blind? 
Dear me I The child has surely got 

A most peculiar mind." 

I've ast my pa to go and buy a brother for me, 

too; 
But he jest shakes his head and says that it 

would never do; 

93 



And then he takes a book up quick and reads 

to me and tries 
To make me laugh and talk to him ; but some- 
times ma, she cries. 
But even then I seem to see 

The empty house next door 
And all those big, dark window-eyes 
That stared at me before. 

Some time I'm going to run away and find a 

father-man 
Who has whole lots of boys and girls — for I 

am sure I can — 
And when I do, I'm going to ast him please to 

come and take 
The house next door and live in it — and — do 

it for my sake ! 
And if he does, oh, won't it be 

A happy day for me? 
I'll get a lot of brothers, then, 

Without no bother — see? 



94 



THE LITTLE FELLER'S GONE 

npH' little feller's gone ! Since he was so big, 
-*- him an' I 

Have been like good old cronies, agreein' on 
the sly 

To skip the years between. 
He was jest goin' on five years — an' I am 

"Grandpa Brown," 
Although he named me "Santa Claus" when 
fust he come to town — 

An' my white beard he seen. 
But now it seems to me a'most 
As soon as he was born, 
Th' little feller's gone. 

He won't be standin' by the gate to holler to 

me, "Hi! 
Wait fer me, Santy I" like he done when I went 
stumpin' by 

T' fetch the cows back home. 
We'll never sit agin an' argue which way we 

should go; 
Or figger if that bird was jest a blackwing er 
a crow. 

Nor through the meadows roam. 
Fer he has found a place up there 
Where it is always dawn — 
Th' little feller's gone. 



95 



He was so full of fun I uster feel my heavy 

years 
Drop from me when I went with him. Some- 
times he'd pull my ears 

And say, "Hear dat Bob White? 
Dat is a quail a-whistlin' in de woods, some- 
where — le's go 
An' ketch him— we can sprinkle salt upon his 
tail, you know!" 

And then he'd laugh outright; 
But now, I don't take int'rust in 
A thing that's goin' on — 
Th' little feller's gone. 

It must be right, but somehow I can't look at 

it that way — 
Why should he go, so young and good, and 

me — so worn out — stay? 
But mebbe up in heaven he will think of me 

and wait 
And holler "Hi !" when he seems me a-limpin' 

to the Gate, 
And mebbe (where is my old han'kerchief 

a-got to now?) 
He'll say to Peter, "Let him in — I like him, 

anyhow 1" 



96 



THE FISHERMAN'S SON 

WHEN pa comes back home from his trip, 
All brown and freckle-faced, 
He's fatter than he's been for months — 

There ain't no cloth to waste 
When he puts on his old fall suit 

And sits out on the lawn, 
And tells about the fish he caught — 
But my! how ma does yawn! 

Pa smokes a puff or two, and then 

He says, "You ought to see 
The one I caught on Thursday — long 

As 'tis from you to me. 
I had him on the bank; yes, sir, 

As sure as you are born, 
And then he jumped right back again — " 

But ma — how she does yawn! 

I got a hook and line that ain't 

Like pa's, but still it's fun 
To go down to the creek and fish 

And keep out of the sun. 
Ma gives me sandwiches to eat, 

And when the last bite's gone 
I guess I go to sleep, sometimes — 

At least I know I yawn. 



97 



But one day I did ketch a fish; 

Ma took it, and it weighed 
A pound, she said; but pa looked cross 

And said, "It must have strayed." 
We had it cooked for supper, too, 

And ma and I ate some; 
But pa, he wouldn't, and ma laughed; 

But all she said was "hu-u-m!" 



98 



THE DOG CONFESSES 

T AM a lucky dog, I know, and all my friends 

■^ agree 

The people that I live with now are good as 

gold to me 
Because three times I saved a life — and that is 

why they give 
Me everything a dog could want — and will, 

while I shall live. 
But I've a conscience, and I must 
Confess the truth — or else I'll bust! 



One day the cart that Bobbie drives ran up on 

pony's heels, 
And off he bolted! I went, too, and mixed up 

with the wheels. 
Until the cart came to a stop, and Bobbie-boy 

was saved — 
Then folks wept o'er the noble way that I, a 

dog, behaved. 
(The truth is, I got in that mix 
Avoiding pony's vicious kicks ! ) 



Another time, when Bobbie went to play out 

on the dock 
He fell into the water there, (he'd stumbled on 

a block) ; 



99 



I sprang in after him, of course, and dragged 

him back to land — 
Then everybody said the way I acted was "just 
grand." 
(The rat that I was chasing when 
I plunged, I never saw again!) 

You see this stubby tail of mine? I got that 

when a car 
Came near to crushing Bobbie-boy — it gave us 

all a jar; 
I knocked him off the track in time, but one 

wheel caught my tail 
And cut it short; it hurt, of course, and I let 

out a wail — 
(The cur that I had hoped to fight 
Across the street, was out of sight I) 

So, though I haven't meant to be a noble brute 
at all, 
I have to take the praise they give, and hear 
them patiently; 
But there is comfort in this thought — although 
it may seem small — 
There are some human heroes who are "pos- 
ing" — just like me I 



100 



BR'ER RABBIT IN DE BRESH PILE 

BR'ER RABBIT sorter snoozin' in de Big 
Bresh Pile, 
Years laid back an' pink eyes shet up tight, 
Snow a-layin' deep an' gittin' deeper all de 
while — 
Br'er Rabbit glad dat he is outer sight. 
Pretty soon he hear a noise — dat's Br'er Fox, 

he know, 
Gropin' th'ough de quiet woods, out in de cold 

an' snow; 
"Is dat you, Br'er Rab?" he say — but Br'er 
Rab lay low 
An' never let on dat he heerd him right. 



"Come out an' take a little stroll," seys Br'er 

Fox, seys he, 

Sniffin' at de bresh pile an' walkin' all aroun' ; 

"Much obleeged," seys Br'er Rab; "but dis 

will do fer me — 

Hate ter walk when snow is on de groun'." 

"Woods is lookin' pretty," says B'rer Fox; "de 

sun 
Is shinin' jest like diamon's — come on, and 

have some fun!" 
"Hafter thank you kindly, but my diamon' days 
is done," 
Seys Br'er Rab, "dey huhts my eyes, I foun'." 



lOI 



Br'er Fox, he lick he chops, an' set down where 

he at 

(Gotter git some plan to bring him out) ; 

Den he say, "Dere's lettuce here — make you 

nice an' fat!" 

But Br'er Rab lay back he haid an' shout: 

"Oh, Br'er Fox, you surely is a liar — dat you is ; 

De lettuce days is done gone by — an' all de 

leaves is friz; 
You'll hafter try anudder way — mah name is 
Leery Liz!" 
(Or Br'er Rabbit slangy, widdout doubt!) 



"Dar comes a man!" seys Br'er Fox; "he gotter 
dog an' gun! 
Br'er Rab, you better come wid me!" 
"Ef dat is true," seys Br'er Rab, "you orter 
jump an' run — 
He gwine t' shoot when youah red haid he 
see!" 
"I got a better house dan dis," seys Br'er Fox; 

"come on 
And live wid me — I treat you well — de man 

and dog is gone!" 
"An' s'ply you wid fresh meat? Oh, no, I 
hasn't jest bin bawn," 
Seys Br'er Rab; "you make me laff," seys he. 



102 



Den Br'er Fox, he slink away, and bahk like 

he was sad, 
An' Br'er Rab, he shake he sides wid laffin' — 

ain't he bad? 
He small, but still, he gotter mind — an' jest fer 

dat he glad — 
or Br'er Rabbit, in de Big Bresh Pile ! 



103 



WHEN 

WHEN to the tired heart and soul and 
brain 
There comes, at last, the Unrepeated Call, 
Where Silence and Eternal Rest are all 
Ahead of me, without one touch of pain — 

Pause at the edge of this desired Dawn, 
Turn down a glass, and then — Be glad I'm 
gone! 

For what the Future holds who knows, or 
cares? 
The Past is done, the Now is here alway — 
So, lighten it for those who needs must stay. 

Breathe no regrets for him who onward fares. 

Back to the Night, face to the coming Dawn, 
Bid him God-speed, and then — Be glad he's 
gone ! 



104 



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